CHAPTER VIITAD COON GOES BACK TO PRISONEverybody looked serious when Stripes Skunk explained that all the houses and barns and sheds on a farm were traps to catch the things who live in them. Even Doctor Muskrat didn’t know any better than to believe him, nor Chatter Squirrel, nor Chaik the Jay, nor Tad Coon.But Nibble Rabbit pulled down his ear with his paw and licked the end of it very thoughtfully. “The cows aren’t trapped,” he said. “The White Cow said that cows lived in those barns because they made a compact with man. They give him milk, and he feeds them and keeps the wolves from killing them.”“But there aren’t any more wolves!” argued Doctor Muskrat.“The cows don’t know that,” said Nibble. “They thought Silvertip the Fox was a wolf. They were terribly excited about him.” My, but you ought to have seen Silk-ears. She began sitting up straight and putting her fur in order; she felt so vain because Nibble seemed to know all about everything.And you ought to have seen Tad Coon’s eyes sparkle again. “Those big cages--barns, you call them, do you, Nibble?--can’t all be traps. The rats scuttle in and out of them.”“But you’re bigger than the rats,” said Stripes. He still felt scary.“But I’m not any bigger than Louie Thomson,” Tad argued. “I’m not nearly as big. I can use his hole.” Of course he meant the cellar door. “And I’ve just got to catch that mean old rat. He said he’d eat me, he did. Guess I’ll show him who’s going to do the eating.”So off waddled that smarty coon. He sneaked round behind the woodpile and scuttled down into the cellar when nobody was looking. There was his cage, just the way he’d left it that morning. He climbed in and lay down.It grew darker and darker. Pitter, pitter, sounded the feet of the scuttling mice. Then came the sound he was listening for--the scritchy-scratch of that rat’s claws on the cellar door. “Hey, you coon!” called the rat. He wanted to be sure Tad wasn’t out of that cage, hiding in some corner, ready to pounce on him. Tad didn’t answer. So the rat ran up a pipe and crept along until he could peek through the darkness. Tad could hear him sniffing. “Are you ready for the rubbish-pile already?” he asked. Still Tad didn’t say anything. Thump! He landed on the top of the cage. He felt the door was open. He crept in!Bounce! Bite! Scree-ee-eech! That was the end of Mr. Rat! But--Bang! went the door! Tad was locked in again. Poor Tad Coon!That’s what always happened to Tad. Every time he played a smarty trick on somebody it was sure to come back on him.Tad Coon made some noise, I can tell you, when he caught that rat down in his jangly old cage. And the cage door made some more when it fell down and locked Tad in. And Tad made more yet, shaking the bars, trying to get out again.Louie Thomson’s family was getting ready to go to bed. His father growled: “If that beast in the cellar makes any more noise I’ll go down there and kill him.”Louie didn’t answer. He didn’t dare to argue. Besides, he didn’t believe it was really Tad. He’d let him go just that morning!Louie’s mother asked: “Louie, did you remember to feed that coon?”“No’m,” said Louie.“Well, then, you can pick some scraps out of the pig’s pail to give him,” said she. She didn’t dare offer him anything else because his father was listening.Do you think Louie would do that? I guess not. He’d learned something that afternoon. Tommy Peele showed him how nice sweet roasting ears of fresh corn were what you ought to feed a coon. He just pretended to pick up something, and then he sneaked down to listen. The coon was there all right enough; he could hear him. You just ought to have heard Louie then. His bare feet went pat-pat-patting over to his father’s cornfield. Then they came pat-pat-patting back again. Pat-pat they went on the cellar floor. And Tad could smell the nice sweet corn.Tad and Louie had the grain sacks flying, to find the family of mice.“There!” said Louie in a happy voice, “I guess you’ll be glad you came back again.” And he poked the corn into the cage. “Oh, I thought you hated me. I do want you to like me, you nice coon.”Was this the cross little boy who’d snapped and snarled at him? Tad just couldn’t believe his ears. He stopped eating to listen.“I will be good to you--’deed I will--if you’ll only be tame,” Louie was saying in this brand-new voice.Tad poked his nose through his bars and sniffed at him. Then he took hold of his door in his handy-paws and shook it until the cellar echoed with its jangly noise.“Don’t, don’t!” begged Louie. “My pa will hear you.” But Tad wanted to be let out. He went on shaking. “Aw, what’s the use of locking you up, you’ll come back to me, anyhow,” said Louie at last. He reached for the door and Tad’s little handy-paw caught hold of his finger. But he didn’t jerk it away, because this wasn’t a snappy, snarly coon. This cunning little fellow didn’t bite him any more than he’d bite Tommy Peele. He opened the door.Thump went Tad on the floor. But this time he didn’t try to run--he was too busy examining Louie Thomson. He twitched Louie’s trousers and he felt of Louie’s toes, and his curious little handy-paws were so tickly they set Louie giggling.Louie’s mother finished sweeping out her kitchen. She was all ready to go to bed now except for one thing. “It’s kind of funny,” she said to herself, “I haven’t seen Louie since I sent him down cellar to feed his coon.” So she took the lamp and started down the stairs, using the broom for a cane, because it came in so handy when she felt tired and stiff. On the fourth step she stopped to listen. That was a queer sound! There it was again. She smiled herself.For what she heard was Louie giggling because Tad Coon’s handy-paws tickled him. Tad was examining him to see if he carried a bug in his pocket, like Tommy Peele. Nobody could convince Tad that Tommy’s noisy ticky watch wasn’t a bug.The lamp cast a light on the cellar floor and Tad saw a mouse. He whisked around and caught it. There, now he could see a pile of grain sacks where he knew there was a whole family of them. He didn’t stop to think where the light was coming from. He’d got used to light and noises while Louie kept him locked up in that awful cage. He used to hate the cellar, too. Now that he was free he thought it was fun--the loveliest sort of a place to go hunting in. You’d better believe he and Louie had those grain sacks flying.“Louie Thomson!” said his mother. “Whatever are you doing?”“My coon’s catching a mouse,” laughed Louie. “Oh, Ma, he’s tame! I let him go this morning and he came right back again.” Of course Tad came back to get even with that mean old rat who plagued him while he was starving in his prison. But Louie didn’t guess that. “Shh, Ma!” he said. “Hold your light so’s he can see. Look! He’s caught another!”“Good land!” exclaimed his mother again. “He’s smarter than a cat. I wish he’d come up and clean a few out o’ my kitchen.”Just then, clump, clump, came Louie’s father down the stairs. Even Tad could tell he was angry by the way he was stamping--you know coons and skunks and bunnies, even, do it, too. He guessed it was time to be going.“What does all this racket mean?” shouted Louie’s father. “I told you I’d kill that beast if I heard any more from him; now I’m going to do it.” And he snatched the broom from his wife’s hand. He wanted to use it for a club. Then he looked in the cage.He didn’t see any coon, but he did see the corn Louie had brought for him! “What do you mean,” he roared, “breaking off my corn for your beast? I told you to leave my grain strictly alone. Now I’ll give you a licking you won’t forget. Where’s that brute gone?”Tad was sneaking around behind him in the dark shadows. Whack! The broomstick just missed him as he bounced out the cellar door. Whack, whack, it came down on Louie Thomson’s shoulders. Out of the cellar door he bolted, too, and raced after Tad Coon.
Everybody looked serious when Stripes Skunk explained that all the houses and barns and sheds on a farm were traps to catch the things who live in them. Even Doctor Muskrat didn’t know any better than to believe him, nor Chatter Squirrel, nor Chaik the Jay, nor Tad Coon.
But Nibble Rabbit pulled down his ear with his paw and licked the end of it very thoughtfully. “The cows aren’t trapped,” he said. “The White Cow said that cows lived in those barns because they made a compact with man. They give him milk, and he feeds them and keeps the wolves from killing them.”
“But there aren’t any more wolves!” argued Doctor Muskrat.
“The cows don’t know that,” said Nibble. “They thought Silvertip the Fox was a wolf. They were terribly excited about him.” My, but you ought to have seen Silk-ears. She began sitting up straight and putting her fur in order; she felt so vain because Nibble seemed to know all about everything.
And you ought to have seen Tad Coon’s eyes sparkle again. “Those big cages--barns, you call them, do you, Nibble?--can’t all be traps. The rats scuttle in and out of them.”
“But you’re bigger than the rats,” said Stripes. He still felt scary.
“But I’m not any bigger than Louie Thomson,” Tad argued. “I’m not nearly as big. I can use his hole.” Of course he meant the cellar door. “And I’ve just got to catch that mean old rat. He said he’d eat me, he did. Guess I’ll show him who’s going to do the eating.”
So off waddled that smarty coon. He sneaked round behind the woodpile and scuttled down into the cellar when nobody was looking. There was his cage, just the way he’d left it that morning. He climbed in and lay down.
It grew darker and darker. Pitter, pitter, sounded the feet of the scuttling mice. Then came the sound he was listening for--the scritchy-scratch of that rat’s claws on the cellar door. “Hey, you coon!” called the rat. He wanted to be sure Tad wasn’t out of that cage, hiding in some corner, ready to pounce on him. Tad didn’t answer. So the rat ran up a pipe and crept along until he could peek through the darkness. Tad could hear him sniffing. “Are you ready for the rubbish-pile already?” he asked. Still Tad didn’t say anything. Thump! He landed on the top of the cage. He felt the door was open. He crept in!
Bounce! Bite! Scree-ee-eech! That was the end of Mr. Rat! But--Bang! went the door! Tad was locked in again. Poor Tad Coon!
That’s what always happened to Tad. Every time he played a smarty trick on somebody it was sure to come back on him.
Tad Coon made some noise, I can tell you, when he caught that rat down in his jangly old cage. And the cage door made some more when it fell down and locked Tad in. And Tad made more yet, shaking the bars, trying to get out again.
Louie Thomson’s family was getting ready to go to bed. His father growled: “If that beast in the cellar makes any more noise I’ll go down there and kill him.”
Louie didn’t answer. He didn’t dare to argue. Besides, he didn’t believe it was really Tad. He’d let him go just that morning!
Louie’s mother asked: “Louie, did you remember to feed that coon?”
“No’m,” said Louie.
“Well, then, you can pick some scraps out of the pig’s pail to give him,” said she. She didn’t dare offer him anything else because his father was listening.
Do you think Louie would do that? I guess not. He’d learned something that afternoon. Tommy Peele showed him how nice sweet roasting ears of fresh corn were what you ought to feed a coon. He just pretended to pick up something, and then he sneaked down to listen. The coon was there all right enough; he could hear him. You just ought to have heard Louie then. His bare feet went pat-pat-patting over to his father’s cornfield. Then they came pat-pat-patting back again. Pat-pat they went on the cellar floor. And Tad could smell the nice sweet corn.
Tad and Louie had the grain sacks flying, to find the family of mice.
Tad and Louie had the grain sacks flying, to find the family of mice.
“There!” said Louie in a happy voice, “I guess you’ll be glad you came back again.” And he poked the corn into the cage. “Oh, I thought you hated me. I do want you to like me, you nice coon.”
Was this the cross little boy who’d snapped and snarled at him? Tad just couldn’t believe his ears. He stopped eating to listen.
“I will be good to you--’deed I will--if you’ll only be tame,” Louie was saying in this brand-new voice.
Tad poked his nose through his bars and sniffed at him. Then he took hold of his door in his handy-paws and shook it until the cellar echoed with its jangly noise.
“Don’t, don’t!” begged Louie. “My pa will hear you.” But Tad wanted to be let out. He went on shaking. “Aw, what’s the use of locking you up, you’ll come back to me, anyhow,” said Louie at last. He reached for the door and Tad’s little handy-paw caught hold of his finger. But he didn’t jerk it away, because this wasn’t a snappy, snarly coon. This cunning little fellow didn’t bite him any more than he’d bite Tommy Peele. He opened the door.
Thump went Tad on the floor. But this time he didn’t try to run--he was too busy examining Louie Thomson. He twitched Louie’s trousers and he felt of Louie’s toes, and his curious little handy-paws were so tickly they set Louie giggling.
Louie’s mother finished sweeping out her kitchen. She was all ready to go to bed now except for one thing. “It’s kind of funny,” she said to herself, “I haven’t seen Louie since I sent him down cellar to feed his coon.” So she took the lamp and started down the stairs, using the broom for a cane, because it came in so handy when she felt tired and stiff. On the fourth step she stopped to listen. That was a queer sound! There it was again. She smiled herself.
For what she heard was Louie giggling because Tad Coon’s handy-paws tickled him. Tad was examining him to see if he carried a bug in his pocket, like Tommy Peele. Nobody could convince Tad that Tommy’s noisy ticky watch wasn’t a bug.
The lamp cast a light on the cellar floor and Tad saw a mouse. He whisked around and caught it. There, now he could see a pile of grain sacks where he knew there was a whole family of them. He didn’t stop to think where the light was coming from. He’d got used to light and noises while Louie kept him locked up in that awful cage. He used to hate the cellar, too. Now that he was free he thought it was fun--the loveliest sort of a place to go hunting in. You’d better believe he and Louie had those grain sacks flying.
“Louie Thomson!” said his mother. “Whatever are you doing?”
“My coon’s catching a mouse,” laughed Louie. “Oh, Ma, he’s tame! I let him go this morning and he came right back again.” Of course Tad came back to get even with that mean old rat who plagued him while he was starving in his prison. But Louie didn’t guess that. “Shh, Ma!” he said. “Hold your light so’s he can see. Look! He’s caught another!”
“Good land!” exclaimed his mother again. “He’s smarter than a cat. I wish he’d come up and clean a few out o’ my kitchen.”
Just then, clump, clump, came Louie’s father down the stairs. Even Tad could tell he was angry by the way he was stamping--you know coons and skunks and bunnies, even, do it, too. He guessed it was time to be going.
“What does all this racket mean?” shouted Louie’s father. “I told you I’d kill that beast if I heard any more from him; now I’m going to do it.” And he snatched the broom from his wife’s hand. He wanted to use it for a club. Then he looked in the cage.
He didn’t see any coon, but he did see the corn Louie had brought for him! “What do you mean,” he roared, “breaking off my corn for your beast? I told you to leave my grain strictly alone. Now I’ll give you a licking you won’t forget. Where’s that brute gone?”
Tad was sneaking around behind him in the dark shadows. Whack! The broomstick just missed him as he bounced out the cellar door. Whack, whack, it came down on Louie Thomson’s shoulders. Out of the cellar door he bolted, too, and raced after Tad Coon.